Ilvermorny Letters
by ThisAccountIsOnTheFritz
Summary: "The owl arrived at my window at exactly 9:21 on the Saturday of my eleventh birthday." Cynthia Jane Baker (CJ, if you will) is just a ordinary girl who happens to have an extraordinary secret that could destroy North America as we know it. May contain minor cursing curtesy of older characters and the protagonists's friends. If I owned HP, the Dursleys would have died in agony.


**Hi! You may have noticed another Ilvermorny story by me labelled** ** _Love from Ilvermorny_** **. That was the original story. However, I decided to redo it, and here's the product! The main characters are inspired by real life people I know, so I think they're a bit more fleshed-out. I hope you like this.** ** _Ilvermorny Letters_** **is also inspired by my own family and situations at these ages. You might notice some differences in character names, introductions, and/or attitudes. This is so that they coincide with my current beliefs and ideas.**

 **Without further ado, here is** ** _Ilvermorny Letters_** **!**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Hi. I guess you're here for the story. That's nice. Oh, my, Lizzi, there are a lot of them. Breathe, CJ, _breathe_.

…

I'm dreadfully sorry for that. I have social anxiety. I'm, um, I'm not very good at people. But let's get on with the story, okay? Before I have another panic attack.

My story begins eight months ago, in the middle of July...

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

The owl arrived at my window at exactly 9:21 on the Saturday of my eleventh birthday. Tied to its leg was a letter. Of course, I was a little freaked about the giant bird that flew through the glass (through it!), so I waved at it like a madwoman, shrieking as it nestled itself in my frizzy brown hair and nuzzling my head. It dangled its let down near my face, a letter tied there harshly. The owl hooted at me. I grabbed the letter (rather harshly, now that I think of it), and the bird left its perch on my precarious bun, setting on the table next to my bed. I glanced at the letter and began slowly opening it, struggling with the wax seal. I mean, who even uses wax seals anymore? Hello, eighteenth century calling, it wants its style back.

A final nip on the ear was the bird's parting gift, and I was glad to be rid of it, for I had more important things to worry about. The letter was addressed to me in a very specific way. It read:

 _Cynthia Jane "CJ" Baker_

 _The second house to the left_

 _The first room down the hall_

Yeah, sorry, I'm not comfortable with strangers knowing where I live. But I assure you that the city, state, and zip code were there.

Though what was inside was stranger still.

 _Dear Ms. Baker,_

 _You have been accepted to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A full list of school supplies for you to pick up in New Diagon Alley will be available for you soon._

 _Please send your reply with the owl by July 31st._

 _Term starts August 18th._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Romilda Boot_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

I wasn't sure what to make of the letter. My first thought was that it was a prank, until the owl came flying through the window again (closed, mind you, it was still closed) and deposited a letter into my hands. Inside was a list of books and other assorted sundries I would need if I were to attend this school.

"Grandma!" I called down the stairs. "Grandma, an owl gave me a letter!"

"Hush, Cynthia, not so loud!" she hissed as she climbed up, laundry in tow. "You wouldn't want to wake May!" May being my three-year-old little cousin, whom we were currently babysitting.

"You're going to think I've gone mad," I began, wringing my hands and reconsidering my life choices, "but an owl gave me a letter. It wants me to go to a school called Ivlermonry."

"Ilvermorny," she corrected me. "It's pronounced 'il-ver-moor-nee'."

I stared. And stared. For a while, actually.

She let out a long breath. "Oh, dear. I'd always hoped they would never ask you to go. When they didn't ask Berri –'

"Crazy Aunt Berri?" No love lost between myself and her, let me tell you. The woman nearly killed me when I was five. And she doesn't like me very much. I think she wants me to be an extrovert, and trust me, social anxiety, asthma, and extrovert are words that do not belong in the same sentence, let alone the same paragraph.

Where was I? Um… oh!

"Cynthia Jane Baker! Your aunt is not crazy!" Grandma snapped. "She is just a bit… extreme." I said nothing, but she knew what I was thinking. "The Swing Incident was an accident, Cynthia."

"My name is CJ," I mumbled.

"You may want to sit down," she ignored me, patting the couch. I sat warily. "Now. The matter of your invitation to Ilvermorny. Darling, Ilvermorny is a school for… different people."

"So you think I'm crazy," I asked incredulously.

"No!" she said quickly. "No. Of course not. Ilvermorny is a school for… talented… young people. Talented… in witchcraft. There. I said it."

I blinked. I knew my grandma had some pretty strange beliefs, but this was a new level of weird.

Apparently, I was pretty obvious in my disbelief. She sighed.

"Now, I _know_ you don't believe me, but Ilvermorny is a very real place with very real people. I attended there, and so did your father and grandpa."

"And my mom?"

"They met there, I believe. She was a Horned Serpent and he was a Pukwudgie. Oh, the stories I could tell you. Like the time when Mark…" she trailed off. "I guess I'd better let you hear about that one by word of mouth, but let me tell you, your father was not a teacher's pet."

"And… witches exist."

"Witches exist," Grandma confirmed, "although we call the young men wizards."

"But… aren't you possessed by the devil?" I asked in a quiet voice. "According to Father Bernard, witches are individuals who are possessed by the devil and do his bidding."

"Goddamned Christians," my grandma muttered. "No. Christian ideas of witchcraft are, if you'll excuse my French, complete and utter bullshit."

At the time, I had been scandalized. "No cussing!" I squealed.

She sighed and pulled a long stick out of her jeans pocket. "This is a wand. It has a magical core, and –"

"Am I going to get one?" I interrupted.

Grandma scowled at me. "Yes. You are going to get a wand. Now, be quiet so I can explain the house system to you. There are four houses that choose you depending on your personality: Thunderbird – that was my house, you know – chooses the adventurers; Horned Serpent – your mother's house – takes the intelligent and cunning; Wampus – your grandpa's house – draws the warriors; and Pukwudgie – your father's house – gets the humble and hardworking. Sometimes a house chooses more than one person, and that person gets to choose which house he or she wishes to be in out of the ones that selected them."

"What if they don't fit in any of them?" I asked nervously. I've never really been good at fitting. Anywhere.

"You will," Grandma assured me, knowing what I was thinking. "Your dad had the same worries, and he was a marvelous Pukwudgie. You'll do fine, darling. The house system is never wrong."

 **I hope that's a good enough start for everyone who commented on the original** ** _Love from Ilvermorny_** **! Please review! It makes me happy. (I'm a very simple person.)**


End file.
